At thirteen, Hyacinthe was still visiting Mary -- on occasion -- and exploring the Wood with the spirit. He was still reading. He had begun writing his own poetry. He had transcended doodling on scraps of paper and his slate to sketching. He had outgrown his clothes with another growth spurt.

He was alive and loved living.

But he still didn't like maths. Truss was still the only one among the faeries that could even get him to do it.

Science, history, geography, studies of the mundane and arcane, politics, botany... all these, he would read of, on his own time, without complaint. But when it came to maths, he would have none of it. "Numbers are not like words," he once told Truss. "Words speak to you. Numbers speak beyond you, as if you aren't even there. Stories exist only when people are there to regard them. Numbers are self-satisfied and only lie in wait until they are noticed."

On the matter of politics, though, Liddy was slightly disturbed by the leanings his charge displayed. He read of tariffs and trade restrictions and found he did not like them very much, free trade appealed, however; he read of monarchies and dictatorships and disliked them, he read of republics and thought them very sound and personable; he read of the elegant palaces and the sublime parties and the abundance of food in palaces, in spite of rationing, and condemned.

The kingdom of King Anthelm was no republic, kept stock of and tariffs on trade, and was known to keep its most upper classes comfortable, even in times of war or famine. These were no bright marks of heroism, true. But they were the facts of the kingdom.

Hyacinthe's way of thinking, then, was unpatriotic.

If not unpatriotic, it was at least oriented oddly, for a child living so near the bounds of such a kingdom. But then, he'd only ever known the Wood and his books. He couldn't have known that most children were socialized to accept the Kingdom's ways as their own, without question.

--

Hyacinthe was deep in the wood, one day.

The Lady of the Forest was briefly seen, in the corner of his eye, and pointed him down a path.

It was a long, wide path, the sort that people-people followed, hoping not to be lost. Hyacinthe preferred the claustrophobic, bramble-choked paths that the "ordinary" folk wouldn't even see as a path. The kind of paths where he would never be found or interrupted, in the midst of his thoughts. Barring a coincidence of monumental proportions.

But this was a wide path.

For people-people.

That lead Hyacinthe to believe that the Lady knew of some people-people in her wood. Perhaps lost. And perhaps the Lady of the Forest wanted Hyacinthe to guide them out of the Wood. Or force them. He didn't quite know what the Lady thought of normal people. She seemed fond of her own people, that various Fair Folk. And she seemed rather fond of Hyacinthe. But she never spoke, least of all about normal humans outside of her domain.

Hyacinthe found himself proven right after a handful of hours of following the plain, unremarkable path.

Plain and unremarkable where Hyacinthe would have preferred extraordinary and noteworthy.

Along the path, Hyacinthe found a young man on a horse. The sight was a little ludicrous, really. The man on the horse had his cape stuck in the lowest branches over the path, and his hat was a few horse-lengths back, stolen by other low-hanging branches.

"You could just get off," Hyacinthe said, in lieu of introduction. He continued forward. But he continued forward with a bit more caution than previous.

"What?" The young man beat back the branches from his hair and cloak, then turned bright eyes and noteworthy freckles in the direction of Hyacinthe's voice.

"You could just dismount your horse. Avoid the branches altogether," Hyacinthe clarified, even though he was sure he'd been clear the first time. He stopped walking forward, still a few horse-lengths from the young man and his horse. Hyacinthe saw few, if any, horses within the Wood. They made him rather uncomfortable, truth be told.

The young man snorted. "Oh, you'd think that, wouldn't you?"

"It's a reasonable suggestion," Hyacinthe raised an eyebrow and carefully folded his arms over his chest. He was careful so that the motion would look entirely intention, rather than defensive. He didn't know if he was feeling defensive, but being defensive tended to make it sound like you were losing an argument, even before you started it.

The young man laughed, this time. It was almost a guffaw. Not the most noble-like action Hyacinthe could have imagined a highborn young man making. "Oh! I don't doubt that," he said. "And it certainly would be. But I'm afraid I've lost one of my boots."

"And?" Hyacinthe furrowed his brow.

"And I can't very go walking around a forest in one boot!" the young man raised a hand and flicked his fingers out to the side, palm upward. Hyacinthe had seen Mary do similar things. It seemed to denote exasperation. Hyacinthe found it rather superfluous.

"Take the other boot off, then," Hyacinthe suggested.

"Take the other boot off, then, he says. Take it off! Well, then I'd be in my stockings!" Hyacinthe didn't even know what stockings were. He'd read the word a few times, but he'd never worn such an article, and if he'd seen them, anywhere, he hadn't recognized them or put the word to an article. It seemed, however, that they went under boots.

Hyacinthe cleared his throat, both eyebrows raised. "Take those off, too? I don't understand why you're so afraid of the ground. It usually doesn't bite, you know."

"Oh, ha-ha. Very clever of you. But I simply won't go around bare-foot. I don't even go bare-foot in the gardens back home." The young man rolled his eyes. He probably didn't realize how condescending or ridiculous he was being, and Hyacinthe didn't care quite enough to mention it.

"Oh. Oh! I see." Hyacinthe regarded the young man for a few moments, then knelt and unlaced his sandals. "They'll be a bit small for you, but not too small. They're a bit big for me, being brand new and meant to see me through a bit of growth."

"Did you just say I had big feet?"

Hyacinthe snorted. "Not in as many words. But they must be bigger than mine."

Hyacinthe straightened and offered the sandals to the horse's human companion. He was still wary of the beast, but he approached so that he could bring the sandals within the young man's reach. The young man didn't take the sandals, immediately, however.

"Here, put these on. Then dismount. You look like a fool, up there." Hyacinthe couldn't help but feel a bit smug as the young man sighed through his nose, leaned over the horse's neck, and accepted the sandals from Hyacinthe. "What are you doing in the wood? Are you a hunter?"

"No, I'm a noble."

Hyacinthe had already figured as much from his clothing, the presence of the horse, and the mention of gardens and stockings. To his credit, though, he didn't roll his eyes. Too much.

"Well then, sir, are you hunting?" The young man had no bow or arrows, which made this an unlikely answer to the young man's presence in the Wood, and the young man was simply too... posh for something akin to foraging or berry-picking.

Wait, Hyacinthe thought. Berry-picking was already part of foraging.

"No. No hunting, today," the young man sighed. Clearly, a hunt would have been more enjoyable. He slid his legs over so that he was sitting side-saddle, and kicked off his other boot. "Sometimes I do, but I admit, I'm here to see if I can't find a boy. One I met in this forest some years back." He leaned over, carefully, and pulled his stocking off, one at a time. Apparently, he had just meant "weird socks worn outside of winter."

"This isn't a fairytale, you know," Hyacinthe re-crossed his arms, just as thoughtfully as he had done, earlier. "You won't happen upon random past acquaintances in the Wood. Not unless She approves and allows it."

"What now? Who's she?"

"The Lady," of course it was the Lady.

The young man frowned, his brow furrowing ever so slightly, and looked up from his task of putting the sandals on. "I... well." He wet his lips. Hyacinthe was tempted to tell him that licking one's lips only made them more chapped. But that seemed like a tiresome conversation to get into. He probably had expensive, scented balms back home, anyway. "No, never mind. Let's just move on: I happened upon you, didn't I?"

Hyacinthe grinned, feeling a sense of success, "Actually, no. You happened across something that took your shoe. Then you happened across branches intent on undressing you, by the looks of it. And then I happened upon you, not the other way around."

"And you are?" The young man attempted to lace the sandals up and tie them with one hand, but the result was messier than even Truss's tying, when he bothered to tie things.

Truss preferred to leave tunics unlaced and sandals behind the cottage door. He could very well go barefoot with a partially exposed chest, and he wouldn't let his brothers tell him otherwise.

"Well, who are you?" Hyacinthe turned the question around, quickly. He was in no habit of giving out his name, anymore. Mary still called him 'My Angel,' even.

"Pip. Son of another Pip, but a Pip they call Philippe."

Pip! Hyacinthe's mouth fell agape for a moment. Pip. His Pip. The boy from all those years ago. How many was it? He couldn't remember.

"Well, then, the Lady must approve. I am Hyacinthe. I believe we were acquainted, once. In this Wood."

"Hyacinth? Like the flower?" Pip asked. He was so much older. But Hyacinthe still felt rather horrible for not recognizing him.

"Much like it, yes," he said.

"And you're the boy who helped me find my fellows?" Pip slid out of the saddle, and startled back a step as Hyacinthe kneeled and untied his borrowed sandals.

"I am he," Hyacinthe said, securing the sandals' laces properly and straightening.

--

In summary, Pip didn't know why he had been driven to find Hyacinthe. But he had been. For a long while.

Hyacinthe had plagued his dreams.

It was all very flattering.

But it had to be appeased and put away, because Hyacinthe couldn't hide someone like Pip from his faerie caretakers. And if he couldn't hide Pip, he couldn't continue a friendship. The answer, therefore, was to forego a proper friendship, like the one he shared with Mary and John. The fact that the problem and the problem's solution were the same bothered Hyacinthe.

There was probably a way around it, but he couldn't think of it.

"I think you should head back," he said.

"Back? Now? Why?" Pip asked.

"It's almost dark. Aren't you afraid of the beasties of the Wood?" Hyacinthe asked.

"Perhaps."

That was properly evasive.

"Won't your family worry about you?"

"Perhaps."

Hyacinthe sighed through his nose and pulled Pip's recently-rescued hat down over Pip's bright eyes. "Perhaps. Perhaps. I don't want to hear that. I want you to go. The Wood is kindly to me, but I don't know how the Wood would be to you."

"Wood would? Wood would, wood would, wood would... that's such an odd combination of words," Pip adjusted his hat, smiling.

"I won't be distracted. I must head home, and so should you," Hyacinthe said. "It was nice to see you again, and you make for a good conversationalist, but you must leave. The Wood is no place for a young lord."

"Couldn't I just follow you home? We could talk some more..."

"Heavens, no," Hyacinthe rubbed his temples. "Please, Pip. Go home. If you feel you must speak with me, for some reason, leave a message at the bridge near the Wood on one side, and the Village of Skydale on the other. A very small footbridge."

"A message? Are you literate?" he seemed thrilled by the idea.

Hyacinthe was vaguely insulted. "Very well, thank you, I have an extensive, classical, and polymathematic education," he responded, snippier than he'd ever been to his caretakers. He rather liked that side of himself, though, contrary to what might have been expected. "No, don't say anything," he raised a hand to keep Pip from interrupting. "That is my ultimatum, Pip," it was too friendly a name to be saying so seriously, "you may leave messages at the bridge. But you must leave."

A bit more pushing was required, but it was good-natured and friendly. And Pip eventually left.

By the time he did, Hyacinthe almost hoped he wouldn't.